


Plenty of Socks

by Footloose



Series: Loaded March EXTRAS [4]
Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, M/M, Military
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-08
Updated: 2011-12-08
Packaged: 2017-10-27 02:38:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,377
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/290754
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Footloose/pseuds/Footloose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Gwaine finally has him alone, but Perceval is not impressed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Plenty of Socks

**Author's Note:**

> I've [opened up the floor to questions](http://loaded-march.livejournal.com/12506.html) or _want-to-see_ scenes in anything currently completed in the Loaded March series so far (up to Part 7).
> 
>  
> 
> In **Loaded March Part 7: First Contact** , the team played musical dorm rooms and rearranged the sleeping assignments that Arthur had set up to force Arthur and Merlin together. At the same time, Gwaine took advantage of the situation to share a room with Perceval.
> 
> Hunters_Knight on LJ prompted the following scene: _The first night of them in the room together with Gwaine trying to convince Percy they should have sex even though all the rooms are under surveillance._
> 
> Sadly, the scene took a life of its own.
> 
> This occurs _concurrently_ with **Loaded March Part 7: First Contact**. It's not necessary to have read it first, but if you haven't read it yet and want to, go read it [here](http://archiveofourown.org/works/281723).

* * *

 

"It's all sorted," Gwaine said, shifting the weight of his duffel bag from his shoulder to the floor, simultaneously turning on his heel to shut the door before Merlin spotted him. They'd had precious little time to make the room swap, and Owain was bloody slow at moving his arse when his arse was bloody tired, and it took this long for Gwaine to finally move in with Perceval.

"I don't see why _I_ have to move," Owain had complained, reaching for a mug of coffee that Gwaine had appropriated -- and emptied -- a long time ago. It hadn't been until Gwaine made suggestive eyebrow wriggles and tilted his head toward Perceval that Owain had clued in. "Oh. OH! Right. I'll... Where's my toothbrush?"

It was all part of his master plan -- to get Merlin and Arthur together, _finally_ , so that the team could be put out of their long-suffering, never-ending misery where those two were concerned. Arthur was too _stupid_ to see a good thing even when it was in front of him; Merlin was too _nice_ to take advantage; and, the two of them needed to get together as of yesterday so that Gwaine could commiserate on a lost opportunity while in Perceval's arms.

"Perce?"

Gwaine turned around and saw Perceval splayed out on one of the cots in the room, arm thrown over his head, reading material piled up high on his chest, one leg propped up while the other dangled a little over the shorter length of the bed.

He was snoring softly.

Gwaine stood there, hands on hips, and muttered, "Well, that does complicate things."

 

* * *

 

It was day two. Gwaine's original plan for morning snogging was foiled not because he'd slept in, but because Perceval was already awake, showered, and dressed by the time Gwaine groggily blinked his eyes open to the sliver of sunshine that was the false dawn streaming through the open window.

He groaned inwardly and buried his head under the starched pillow. If he weren't even going to get a glimpse of Perceval's arse when he dressed this fine morning, then there _really was no point in getting up_.

Perceval yanked the pillow from his face before Gwaine could suffocate himself with it. "You'll be pleased to know that Merlin didn't try to beg off sleeping somewhere else last night, and Arthur didn't throw him out."

Gwaine let out a short laugh -- the sort of laugh where he was absurdly pleased with himself and painfully despondent at the same time. "Phase one is a success, then."

"What's phase two?"

Gwaine looked up at Perceval, his cheek smooth-shaven, the olive green shirt tight over his muscular chest, stretching over those _delicious_ shoulders. He raised a brow, shifted himself a bit to the left, pressing against the wall, and patted the cot next to him.

Perceval tossed the pillow at his head with the velocity of a fastball, and it was nearly enough to knock Gwaine unconscious.

 

* * *

 

"I have it all worked out," Gwaine said, showing Perceval the flimsy, taped-together multi-papered hand-drawn grid that was supposed to represent the three weeks that they were stuck on the Directory compound. The first six squares were already crossed out in black, along with the names of the people who had blocked off those dates and times.

The sheet was somewhat crumpled (from the time that Gwaine had to hastily hide it from Arthur when Arthur barged in, wanting to know what the fuck Gwaine were thinking when he _stole all of his underwear_ , and Gwaine wondered at Arthur's obliviousness, because _obviously_ , Gwaine was trying to give Arthur an excuse to snuggle up _starkers_ with Merlin), the grids weren't straight (the desks were inconveniently small and he had no ruler), and there was a strange eighth column for the three weeks that should only have seven days.

Perceval sat down on the bed next to him; the springs creaked under the added weight, and Gwaine couldn't help but grin at the thought of making those springs creak _even more_. It also gave him the idea that maybe all the cots creaked and squeaked, and that would be all the confirmation the Fuck Pool would need that Arthur and Merlin had finally succumbed to their base desires and were shagging each other's brains out.

"All right, I'll bite," Perceval said, barely glancing up from the "homework" assignment they'd been given. "What do you have all worked out?"

"There's a pattern to the training. On the days that we're kept late, there's no way that those two will have a go at each other. They'll be too tired. And on the days when Arthur's taking us on a particularly long rucksack run, that's when he's _really_ frustrated, but he's being all noble and shite. I figure if I apply a correlation... constant... calculation... by proxy... to... um.. regress --"

Perceval gave him an odd look. "Did you ask Merlin for prediction statistics?"

"I may have?" Gwaine admitted.

"Did you make Merlin do the math, too?"

Gwaine grinned. "I may have?"

Perceval shook his head and chuckled. "Okay, you win points on that alone, if you could convince him to do that without him finding out what it's about."

"'Course I did, the bloke hasn't a clue --"

Perceval leaned in for a closer look at the grid. Gwaine could smell the harsh soap their "keepers" had given them to wash up with.

"What's this?" Perceval tapped the grid, pointing at the eight column.

"Oh, that's. Nothing." Gwaine said, pulling the grid out of Perceval's reach. Only, the problem with that was that Perceval had a longer reach than Gwaine. He shrieked. "Careful! You'll tear it!"

"Then let go."

"I said it was nothing."

"With you, Gwaine, it's _never_ nothing. Give over," Perceval said, and when the paper threatened to tear, Gwaine had to capitulate or risk losing all of his precious work. Perceval dragged the Fuck Pool diagram closer, reading the tiny, minuscule, spider-scribble in each box.

Perceval glanced at Gwaine sharply, and back at the grid. He tapped the eight column of the first week and read out loud, " _At the very least, I should_ snog _him by Friday_? Snog who?"

"Well. You?"

Perceval released a heavy sigh, shoved the crumpled Fuck Pool grid in Gwaine's arms, gathered his homework, and moved from Gwaine's cot to his own.

"Oh, come _on!_ " Gwaine grumbled.

 

* * *

 

"Are you even _interested_ in me?" Gwaine asked. They were at the midway point in Excalibur's very inhospitable stay at the Directory's lovely compound. They were eating their lunchtime meal on the picnic benches outside, because everyone on the Directory's staff were eating in the mess hall and the cumulative brainpower and residual crackling stink of sorcery was a little overpowering. "Was that kiss a one-off, or what? Because I'm really fucking confused right now."

"And that's our cue to leave." Geraint stood up abruptly, tray and all, and kicked Galahad. Several times.

Galahad looked up, but he finished his mouthful before giving up a plaintive "Ow. What?"

"The lovebirds are having a tiff," Geraint said.

Galahad looked around. "Where? They're not... You're having me on, I see Arthur, but -- OW! What was that for?"

Geraint winced and hopped on one foot; he must have stubbed his toe. He gave it another try, and this time, Geraint was a little more obvious, pointing at Galahad, pointing at himself, and thumbing in the universal gesture of _let's get the fuck out of here_ while simultaneously shooting meaningful looks and head-tilts in Gwaine and Perceval's directions.

Galahad shovelled another mouthful of soggy meatloaf while studying Gwaine and Perceval. Perceval was smirking and moving his fork around on his plate; Gwaine tapped an impatient finger on his knee before deciding that he didn't really care if the team overheard the conversation -- the others would find out anyway, because _there were no bloody secrets_ in a team like Excalibur.

"Well? The kiss?" Gwaine prompted, elbowing Perceval.

"What kiss? Did they kiss?" Galahad asked, frowning, searching out Arthur, but by now their Captain had headed into the mess hall. Merlin popped out of the dormitory, and was trotting toward the compound's library, a stack of three books tucked under his arm.

The only sound out of Geraint's mouth was a strangled noise and a long-suffering sigh.

"He's not talking about Merlin and Arthur," Perceval supplied helpfully.

"Who's he talking about, then?" Galahad asked.

"For fuck's sake!" Geraint reached down, grabbed Galahad's arm, and hauled him to his feet, dragging him off in a sputter of nearly-spilled food and jangling cutlery. "Perce and Gwaine!"

"What -- but. What? What about them?" Galahad asked, twisting around.

"They're talking about themselves! _Perce and Gwaine_ , you clotpole!"

"What? You mean -- WHAT?" Galahad ground to a stop, craning his neck to look over his shoulder. " _THEM?_ Oh, come _on!_ No!"

"Yes!"

"No!"

"Yes!"

Gwaine watched them go, and turned to Perceval again. "So?"

"It wasn't a one-off," Perceval said, putting down his fork to pop open the can of Coke. The look Perceval gave him was calm, collected, and _damn him_ , amused.

"All right. If you say so. Not a one-off. What is it, then?"

Perceval favoured him with a frown, and clapped a hand on Gwaine's back. "Why can't you be patient?"

"It's _me_. Of course I can't be patient," Gwaine snorted, acutely aware that Perceval's hand hadn't moved except to rise up to his shoulder, and stroke down again.

"Says the man who can lay flat on his belly, eye through the scope, finger with two pounds of pressure on the trigger for _seventy-six hours_ , waiting for his target to show up." Perceval's hand left a cool void against his shoulder when he stood up, ruffling Gwaine's hair. "Be patient."

Gwaine pushed his tray out of the way and buried his head in his hands, stifling a scream of frustration.

 

* * *

 

Gwaine leaned with an arm against the bookshelf for what seemed like hours, drumming his fingers on the stack of dusty tomes that had probably never seen a feather duster in their _entire lifetime_ before realizing that the texture of the cover of the book he was tapping was too soft to be plain old leather vellum. His mind drifted toward the possibility of human flesh being used as a book cover, which made him jerk his hand back, only to pluck the book in question from the shelf on the off-chance that it might be the _Necronomicon_ from **Army of Darkness**.

He flipped through it a few times, but the book definitely wasn't the _Necronomicon_. For one thing, it didn't try to eat him, and there hadn't been a vortex sucking him into an alternate dimension -- preferably one where Perceval would actually cooperate and _snog_ him already. He was disappointed.

"Gwaine?"

Merlin was rubbing one ear and blinking his eyes clear of a thousand-mile stare, shutting the door behind him as Professor D continued, "... and another thing..."

"Merlin!" Gwaine grinned, putting the book back on the shelf hastily.

"Gwaine." Merlin frowned at him, suspicious.

"There you are!" Gwaine announced, as if he hadn't been waiting for Merlin to make an appearance all along. "I was hoping you had a few minutes to chat..."

"About what?"

Gwaine threw his arm around Merlin's shoulders, holding him close as they walked out of the library and into the blessed crisp fresh air. "My love life."

"You realize that I'm still not interested," Merlin said.

"Are you sure?" There was no missing Merlin's eye-roll. "Oi, can't blame me, I had to ask. There's always the possibility that you might have changed your mind --"

"A very on-the-nanotiny-scale small possibility," Merlin said. "For example, if you and I were the last gay men on Earth and the fate of the planet _somehow_ rested on the two of us getting together."

"See! I knew you'd see it my way," Gwaine said, tugging Merlin _even_ closer. Their hips brushed together, and they almost had an uncoordinated moment of falling flat on their faces in a tangled-legs manoeuvre before Gwaine steadied them both. "Just give me some time, and I'm sure I can figure out the right conditions to make that happen."

Merlin snorted and shrugged ineffectually, trying to get free. "Let me go, Gwaine."

"Absolutely not. Someone has to be the gentleman and escort you back to the dormitory. You never know what kind of sexual predators might be lurking on the compound, waiting to catch you unawares," Gwaine said.

"Like you?" Merlin asked.

"Exactly like me," Gwaine said, glancing around distractedly. There was no sign of Perceval, but he was getting the full force of an _if you don't let him go right now I will hurt you like you've never been hurt before_ glare from Arthur. That was something that had contributed to _why_ Arthur and Gwaine had never worked out, and could _never_ work out. Arthur was a possessive, jealous prat, and more than one fight had broken out between them when Gwaine flirted with _everything in existence_.

If Perceval had a fraction of Arthur's possessive, jealous tendencies, Gwaine would have him in the bag. Or the bed, rather.

Only, there was no Perceval.

Merlin chuckled. Gwaine turned to look at him, their heads close enough together that he banged their heads together. "What's so funny?"

"You just called yourself a sexual predator," Merlin pointed out. "And, really, I don't know what your game is, but leave me out of it."

"I'm not playing a game," Gwaine protested. Well, he _was_ , and Merlin was his lovely, lovely assistant. Now, if Perceval would _show up already_ and see how Gwaine was draping himself all over Merlin --

"Are you sure about that?" Merlin looked at him doubtfully. "You masterminded the dorm room shuffle to get me to share quarters with Arthur, remember? I'm _sure_ this is some extension of that. I'm even willing to bet that it's got to do with you sharing a room with _Perceval_ , yeah?"

"For chrissake, does _everyone_ know?"

"Funny. I'm wondering the same thing about me and Arthur," Merlin grumbled, half to himself. A little louder, he said, "But, yes."

"Excellent," Gwaine said. He looked around again. Still no Perceval. Why wasn't the man showing up? Perceval was wasting a prime opportunity to engage in angry, jealous, possessive sex, and if he didn't hurry up, Arthur might snap like a rubber band pulled to its limits, and _flatten_ Gwaine.

"He's over there," Merlin supplied, tilting his head, and, yes, there was Perceval, chatting with Owain, walking towards them. "He spotted us a while back. I don't think he cares."

"Hey, Merlin. Gwaine. See you at the mess hall," Perceval said, grinning at them with the knowing smirk of someone who knew _exactly what Gwaine was up to_.

"We'll try to leave you plonkers some crumbs," Owain said.

They walked past without another word. Gwaine let his arm drop from Merlin's shoulder, scowling in disgust. Merlin swept a hand out toward Perceval and said, "See?"

"Damn it," Gwaine said. "Who the hell do I have to do to get him to react?"

"Obviously not _me_ ," Merlin said, flashing him a wink and a grin before darting off to the dorm.

"Cheeky bugger," Gwaine muttered, and turned around with every intention of heading toward the mess hall when he ran into the solid wall that was Arthur and bounced off. "Ouch."

"Gwaine --" Arthur began, his tone warning.

Gwaine waved him off in a flurry of hands in the air and said hurriedly, "Yes, yes, I know. He's yours. Hands off or you'll cut them off, and maybe if you're generous you'll fry my balls up with a bit of salt and brown sauce before feeding them to me. Ad infinitum threatenitum. Consider me lectured. I understand _completely_ , I won't touch him again, and for the love of God, Arthur --"

Gwaine grabbed Arthur's shoulders and shook him.

"-- do us all a favour and shag him already. If you'll excuse me, I've got something more pressing on my mind."

He sidestepped past Arthur and hurried after Perceval.

 

* * *

 

Gwaine tried ignoring Perceval.

That particular tactic lasted all of ten minutes, his resolve shattering like fine crystal when Perceval came back from his shower clad in nothing but a tiny towel wrapped around his waist.

 

* * *

 

"Gwaine? Are you awake?"

Gwaine opened his eyes to the debrief notes that he vaguely remembered pretending to read before drifting off to sleep; he didn't recall dropping the notes on his face, though.

"No," he said, waving a hand in the air, leaving the spiral-bound pack of notes where it was. He was in no mood to talk to Perceval. This was getting ridiculous. On the one hand, Perceval _claimed_ to be interested in Gwaine, and yet, here was Gwaine, ready and single and _willing_. Perceval wasn't even taking advantage of the situation.

Gwaine certainly would, if the roles were reserved. He wouldn't hesitate. Not for an instant. He would go and...

He kicked at whatever was pinching his toes.

... and haul them in a corner somewhere and snog them senseless, and while they were senseless, he'd cop a feel, and while he were copping a feel, he'd pull up shirts and pull down pants and...

Gwaine's legs twitched, trying to shake off the hand that was wrapped around his ankles. Both of them.

... and have his bloody way with them, that's what he would do. And then...

Someone was lifting his legs up and pulling the blanket out from under him. Gwaine flailed a little bit, but whoever was holding onto his legs, they had him in a death's grip.

... and then. And then. He didn't know what he'd do. Frankly, he'd had so few serious relationships, he wasn't entirely certain what happened next. His longest had been, admittedly, with Arthur, and that was only because they knew each other so well that they'd at least committed to giving it a honest go until they both decided that they needed to be committed for having gone out with each other in the first place.

Gwaine's legs were dropped down, and the blanket thrown on top of him.

The briefing notes were yanked from his face, and Gwaine shrieked, covering his eyes with his hands. "The light!"

"I thought you were sleeping," Perceval said, dropping the briefing notes -- all two hundred and eighteen pages of them -- on Gwaine's chest. He reached over Gwaine's head and turned off the light; the room was instantly shrouded in darkness.

"I thought I was too," Gwaine grumbled, dropping the "homework" on the floor. He listened to Perceval's retreating footsteps, at the creak of the bed under his weight, at the rustle of blanket as Perceval settled on the other bed.

"Goodnight, Gwaine," Perceval said, like he'd been saying _every night_ , with that small, expectant tone that Gwaine didn't know how to interpret.

Gwaine answered him with a grunt, and turned over onto his side, away from Perceval. The silence trickled. A truck drove past outside their window, at 0100 like clockwork, delivering supplies. Gwaine tossed and turned. Half an hour later, the truck drove past the other way. Gwaine tossed and turned some more.

"Is it me?" Gwaine asked abruptly, rolling onto his back.

There was a soft, sleepy groan from the other side of the room. "I have no idea what this is in regards to, but I suppose if you're involved, the answer is yes."

Gwaine propped himself up on his elbows. He could make out the large Perceval-sized lump sleeping on his side, his legs curled a bit to keep his feet from dangling off the edge of the too-short-for-Perceval cot.

"Is the reason you don't want anything to do with me, well, _me_?"

"First of all, I do want something to do with you." There was a soft sigh, and finally, Perceval added, "But, also, yes."

"Well, fuck. That doesn't bode well for me getting some, does it?" Gwaine asked.

"No, not one bit," Perceval said, rolling onto his back. There was a long silence, and Perceval said, "Look. I'm not asking that you change, but I don't want to be a one-night stand, yeah?"

Gwaine didn't answer, staring at the light streaming through the window. "You'd let me get away with that?"

"To be honest, I don't know. You're a lot of work," Perceval said.

"What?" Gwaine glanced over, but he couldn't make out Perceval's expression, and his tone was something of bemused. "You've got me confused with Arthur. He's the spoilt princess."

Perceval barked a short laugh. "Yeah, maybe. But at least Arthur's not going to run off on Merlin, will he?"

"No. You know Arthur. It's kind of obvious that Merlin's the end all for him," Gwaine said wistfully. He frowned. "Are you saying that I'd run off on you?"

Perceval settled on the bed, and there was a quiet sigh. "We've been mates a long time. I know your track record. It's... a little intimidating."

"Not really," Gwaine said. He was answered with silence. He huffed quietly and rolled onto his side. "I suppose."

Perceval didn't answer him. Gwaine shut his eyes.

"Goodnight, Perce."

 

* * *

 

"You look like shite, mate," Geraint said, raising a meaningful eyebrow at Gwaine. "Perce keeping you up like a good boy?"

Gwaine looked up to see Galahad sitting across from him, a shit-eating grin spreading on his face. "I dunno about that. Perce's looking pretty well-rested."

"I guess we know who's on top, yeah?" Geraint said.

"Fuck off, G," Gwaine muttered, getting up. He left his untouched breakfast on the table for the lot of them to take care of and walked out of the breakfast hall.

 

* * *

 

It was another debriefing, but Gwaine wasn't listening. He scratched the back of his head once, nodded twice to show he was listening, and rubbed his eyes when he found he couldn't focus on the nine-point Helvetica font on the projector screen.

It definitely didn't help when he saw Merlin talking to Perceval, or when Perceval put his hand on Merlin's shoulder. And when Arthur didn't glare at Perceval _for touching his property_ , Gwaine decided that things were _really not fair_.

He caught himself staring at Perceval more than once. He caught glimpses of Perceval looking his way for a brief moment. He told himself that he hadn't bloody well _memorized_ Perceval's profile, the way his shirt stretched across broad shoulders, the curve of muscle in his arms, the strong hands that could crush or soothe.

And that was when he realized that he was _obsessing_. Over Perceval. About Perceval. Just. Perceval.

Not the way his clothes fit him as if they were a size too small, or the way the muscles in his arms tensed when he picked up something heavy. Not the way his bare arse, even in only that brief moment before he'd pull on his boxers, was perfect. Not the way those legs were bloody _tree trunks_ that could probably crush Gwaine when Gwaine fucked him. Or that could split him apart by delivering powerful thrusts when Perceval fucked _him_. Gwaine couldn't stop fantasizing about it.

It was the easy way he smiled, the way he leaned back and took it all in, the way he thought things out before he acted. It was the way he was patient, still, calm, like a mountain against a storm, holding fast and steady, taking the blows as they came and embracing the wind afterward.

Gwaine was _obsessing_.

He couldn't remember when that had ever happened before. Merlin didn't count. Not even Arthur had rated that high.

There was fun in chasing people who played hard to get, and only because Gwaine knew that those people were _playing_ , that they'd succumb to him in the end.

There was no fun in this, because Perceval wasn't playing. He really was hard to get. Gwaine never bothered with the ones who had no interest in him. Merlin didn't count. Except -- Perceval had told him that he did have interest.

It was really well past _not fair_. Gwaine had crossed into the Unfairness Zone. First Arthur, then Merlin, and now Perceval. Why did he keep falling for the ones who had _principles_?

 

* * *

 

"I'm not _that_ much work," Gwaine muttered, sitting down next to Perceval. They were in the mess hall again, but it wasn't breakfast, lunch, or dinner. It wasn't even a semblance of tea; the team had mostly taken over the mess hall in the off-hours, because they were given so much material to read and memorize that it doubled as a study hall.

Geraint looked up at the two of them from across the table, his eyes red and glazed from too much staring, not enough blinking, and _definitely_ insufficient absorption of the material. "Do you want me to go?"

Gwaine ignored him. "And I _can_ be patient."

"I'll go," Geraint said, standing up, groaning as he unfolded his body from the sitting-crouched-slumped position he'd been in. When he stood up straight, the bones in his spine creaked into place.

Gwaine and Perceval looked up at the sound. Everyone in the room looked up at the sound. That single snap-crack had echoed throughout the large room.

"You all right, mate?" Gwaine asked.

"Fine," Geraint grimaced, stepping over the bench seat gingerly, "Don't worry about me. Just sort yourselves out."

He hobbled away, one shoulder down, a hand on his hip. Gwaine and Perceval watched Geraint -- eventually, Galahad clued in on Geraint's plight and went to help him out -- as he did the old man shuffle across the hall.

"I'm going to fuck up. I'm going to be the epitome of stupid. I can't help myself. I'm going to flirt with everyone. Especially Merlin. Despite Arthur. I drink to excess, I gamble, and I moan and bitch and whine a lot. But I want to try," Gwaine said, turning back to Perceval as if there hadn't been any interruption.

"I've known you for a long time, Gwaine," Perceval said, and there was the undertone of _I know how you are_.

"Give me a chance." Gwaine bit his tongue, but the word came out anyway. "Please."

Perceval tilted his head, studying Gwaine with half-hooded eyes. A dam holding back all of Gwaine's relief flooded when Perceval smiled and nodded.

 

* * *

 

 _One kiss. That's all I'm asking for. Kissing. We can kiss, can't we? I don't see the harm. Kissing doesn't have to lead to more than just more kissing. I promise I won't push. We'll do it at your speed. But. One kiss? Just one?_

Gwaine had practiced the speech over and over in his head until it almost sounded good enough to convince _him_. It was easy when he'd used variations of that exact same speech to convince past pulls that he really did have their best interest in mind, but the scary part was, _this time_ , he was sincere. He couldn't remember the last time he'd ever been happy to leave it at _snogging_. Provided, of course, there _was_ snogging in the first place.

"Perce --" Gwaine began, but he stopped dead in the doorway when he saw what had happened to the room. The two cots had been crammed together and the blankets tucked in to make one single bed that could probably pass for a Double if he squinted.

Squinting or not, there was no Perceval in the room. He was sure he'd left Perceval behind when he ducked out to the showers -- in part because he stank after practice, in part because he wanted to mumble the speech to himself without anyone overhearing. He distinctly remembered that Perceval had been reading from the ever-growing stack of material that the Directory kept heaping on them when he'd changed out of his clothes and wrapped a towel around himself (and, damn it, Perceval barely glanced at him -- Gwaine could only _envy_ the man's self-control) before leaving the room. There were times when Gwaine was convinced that other than Arthur and Merlin and Leon, Perceval was the only other person who even bothered paying more than a few minutes' attention on the paperwork the Directory kept giving them.

Except, Perceval wasn't studying.

"Well, get in," Perceval said from behind him. When Gwaine didn't move, Perceval put his hands on Gwaine's shoulders and shoved him inside the room, shutting the door behind them.

"I swear I didn't do this," Gwaine said, gesturing at the beds.

"I know. I did," Perceval said, walking past Gwaine and opening a footlocker -- the footlocker that belonged to Gwaine. Gwaine stared, eyebrows raised, as Perceval rummaged around until he found a pair of pyjama pants. "Here. Put these on."

Gwaine looked at the bundle of fabric in his hands. He was still stuck on Perceval's admission and the absurdity of coming back to find the beds pushed together. "Wait. You did? Why? I thought you --"

"I want a bloody night's sleep, Gwaine," Perceval said, sounding tired and frustrated and irritated all of a sudden. "You're a goddamned chainsaw when you _do_ sleep, but you're a bull in a china shop when you're not --"

"And this?" Gwaine pointed toward the beds, still confused.

"It took a short chat with Merlin -- yes, _Merlin_ , who damn well should take his own advice -- for me to realize that maybe you're not sleeping because you're wound up about me, that you're not used to uncertainty, to taking it slow, to --"

"Um." Gwaine frowned, trying to follow. He felt as if he'd been thrown off a runaway train and that no matter how fast he ran, he'd never catch up.

Perceval took a deep breath. "Look. Merlin said maybe if I made a grand gesture of some sort --"

"I would've been happy with a kiss," Gwaine said, all of his earlier, carefully-practiced, highly-elaborate speech coming down to one single, weak sentence. He saw Perceval's speculative look and hastily added, "But this is fine. This is _more_ than fine."

He'd barely gotten the words out when anything more was interrupted by the insistent press of Perceval's lips, a strong hand curling behind his head to hold him in place. It was completely unnecessary, Gwaine wanted to say, because he wasn't going _anywhere_ , not now that he finally had Perceval where he wanted him. All coherent thought went out the window when Perceval's lips parted and came in for another kiss, and another, and another. His hand stayed where it was, his other arm slipped around Gwaine's waist, and the towel would have fallen clean off if Perceval hadn't caught it first.

Gwaine made a soft sound of disappointment. Perceval nibbled Gwaine's lower lip before Gwaine realized what he was doing and stepped in for more, rewarded by the warm heat of Perceval's mouth breathing into his own, the tantalizing tease of tongue.

When Perceval broke the kiss, taking a big step back, it sent a horrible chill through Gwaine that was ten times worse than the shock of a cold water bath. Gwaine's protest died on his lips when he saw the state Perceval was in -- breathing heavily, his cheeks flushed, a bulge in his trousers.

Gwaine wasn't much better off himself. His towel was now a tent.

"Put them on," Perceval said again, and Gwaine looked down at the pyjama bottoms in his hands, wondering how he hadn't dropped them in the _want/need/more_ of the kiss.

"You know, I could sleep starkers," Gwaine volunteered. "It'll be something of a hardship -- I'm completely unaccustomed to it, but for you --"

"Put them on, Gwaine," Perceval said a third time, this time with a bit of warning in his tone. He pointed to the camera in the room. "I am _not_ starring in a Directory porn flick, and neither are you, if I can help it."

"Could always put a sock --"

"Gwaine!" Perceval had a small, helpless smile on his lips. Gwaine realized suddenly that maybe Perceval wasn't as stoic or as aloof or as full of self-control as he'd been all along. That maybe it wouldn't take much more pushing before Perceval would give in to his charms.

A part of him decided that he didn't want Perceval to give in too soon.

"Okay, okay. It was a thought. Keep it in mind. I've got plenty of spare socks."

And plenty of time.


End file.
